


Time to Burn

by Silent_So_Long



Category: Chronicles of Riddick (2004)
Genre: Community: smallfandomflsh, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-17
Updated: 2012-04-17
Packaged: 2017-11-03 19:54:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/385267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silent_So_Long/pseuds/Silent_So_Long
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vaako reflects upon his past, a past he cannot remember</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time to Burn

**Author's Note:**

> written for the [smallfandomflsh](http://smallfandomflsh.livejournal.com) prompt #82 - Memory. Title also comes from the song of the same name by The Rasmus.

Vaako sat alone in the Throne room of the Basilica, dark eyes sightlessly staring at nothing. His chest rose and fell in even movements, body relaxed against the throne itself. He could feel the sleek coolness beneath his palms and his armour squeaked against it with every movement he made, no matter how minimal the movement. To the untrained eye, however, Vaako was as motionless as a statue, and the dark and mysterious pool of his eyes were just as unreadable as the star filled vacuum of space. Only the slight movement of one arm or a swift blink every now and again gave away the fact that he was even alive, inasmuch as a Necromonger could truly be described as being alive.

His mind was not as still as his body; instead, his thoughts travelled every which way imaginable, tracing the path of his life as it stood now, mind trying to recapture his past that he could no longer remember bar the odd occasional snatch. All he could remember was the Necromonger faith, ever since he’d been converted. He remembered the pain of conversion, of hanging in the Basilica, alone amongst a crowd of fellow converts, feeling alone in a crowd even in current times. 

He remembered the pain of wakefulness after the conversion was over, of the fresh mark upon his neck that remained ever since. His current reflection in mirrored surfaces was all too familiar, of pale cheeks and dark rimmed eyes, an intense stare that he didn’t think he’d possessed before. He had no memory of his features before that. His mind skittered over thoughts of his fellow Necromongers, Dame Vaako, the Purifier, Lord Marshal Zhylaw, yet nothing and no one of his former life came to his mind. 

He struggled to remember, to push past the all claiming fog of conversion, hoping to remember something. He knew that the Purifier had remembered something of his former life before walking into the heat and the flames on Crematoria, of being a Furyan much like Riddick. Once he’d passed, Riddick truly had been the last of the Furyans, little good that did him now. 

Vaako’s mind shifted again, and a memory surfaced on fragile butterfly wings, tickling against memories of war, of fighting, of subjugation, of conversion. That memory on gossamer wings was more innocent, more fragile than current memories. He remembered being a child, fleeting glimpses of running through fields of gold, of smelling the fresh scents of spring with the wind in his hair, much shorter then than it was in current times. 

He remembered a small puppy lolloping in his footsteps, of his mother calling him home for his dinner, the fleeting taste of strawberries pilfered in roadside hedgerows. He remembered the wash of fruity sweetness washing over his tongue, clearer still than any memory that had gone before. On reflex, he licked his lips, as though the sense memories alone could feed him. Of course, the taste of strawberries was but an illusion, only present in distant memories and not the dry present.

His hand curled into a fist at that, an angry frown pulling his brows down low as he struggled to remember more, even though he could not say why it was so important to remember such details. After all, they had no relevance upon his present course of action. Perhaps it was the passing of one Lord Marshal and the introduction of a new one, albeit an unwilling one that had provoked such need for memories of his past. All the things he could not remember had begun to weigh upon his mind, and he knew, given time, he would remember them. 

He wondered if there would be salvation for him, at all, through remembered memories, or through Riddick himself. There hadn’t been many choices handed to him before Riddick; he’d been owned and manipulated by Zhylaw and Dame Vaako both, leaving him nothing left to truly call his own. All he’d known were orders and political intrigue, and his wife’s over-bearing need for Vaako to take leadership from Zhylaw.

“You keep what you kill,” Vaako said aloud, mockery clear in his tone.

There was a time when there hadn’t been killing if he could but remember it. He laid his head back against the throne, eyes staring sightlessly up at the ceiling now, yet still he saw nothing but his own train of thoughts. He was still sitting there when Riddick strode into the Throne Room, boot heels clicking softly against the floor.

“You look as though you have a heavy weight on your shoulders,” Riddick observed, yet he sounded as though he didn’t expect Vaako to answer him. 

“I have,” Vaako said. “Yet no one can help me to recover all that is lost.” 

He stood then, bowed slightly towards Riddick, offering him the deference he could never truly give Zhylaw before leaving the room. He was aware of Riddick watching his departure, yet he gave it little thought. Riddick might have been the one to free the Necromongers from their tenure of slavery under Zhylaw, yet he was not the one to recover lost memories. That burden lay solely upon Vaako himself. He knew that, given time, he would remember everything if he but worked hard enough upon his memories. They were there somewhere; all he needed was the key to unlock his hidden past. After all, he had the time to burn.


End file.
